London Calling
by messyhead
Summary: Jaime and Oscar go to London for OSI business and a small holiday  and get more than they bargained for. Thanks to NeesiePie for her editing skills.
1. Chapter 1

He cocked his head to one side and gazed at the machine with admiration. In addition to the wonders it could do to the human brain, it was just so pleasing to look at. The dials and knobs were so prettily placed, and so functional. He had never felt more proud - all his hard work was about to pay off. There was not an scientist, psychologist or engineer in the world, who upon seeing him at work with the machine, could deny his genius. Although he would likely never witness the admiration of his peers, it didn't really matter - he was going to be a very rich man, and he would be highly regarded in an exclusive circle. A deal with the Soviets was all but made and they were going to be eternally, financially grateful to him. In the presence of the unbeatable team of this machine and this man, no secret was safe inside the brain of any human being. Granted, their subject was demonstrating a few unfortunate side effects - but the results were nonetheless spectacular, and of course the Soviets weren't particularly interested in the well being of the subject anyway.

It needed a name, he thought. Something dramatic, descriptive, with just a hint of menace. Perhaps - that name he came up while cooking dinner last week - yes - he would call it _The Tenderizer._

_---_

Jaime went through this every night. She tried not to hang around the phone, but worried if she went out she would miss his call. Then just as she began to wonder if she should go ahead and call and interrupt him in the middle of whatever international crisis he was dealing with - the phone would ring, as it did tonight.

She grabbed the receiver, wishing she didn't feel quite so much like a lovesick teenager.

"Hello?"

"Babe." Oscar's voice was warm, intimate.

"Hi." she sighed, smiling.

"How are you?"

"Better now." she replied. "I miss you. A lot. How long has it been?"

"Four days and...nine hours. I miss you too." he said quietly. "In fact I miss you so much I've come up with an idea - how would you like to come to London with me?"

"London?! With you? Are you kidding?" she exclaimed, her heart leaping.

He sniffed. "Well..."

"What's the catch?" she interrupted.

"What makes you think there's a catch?"

Because you always sniff when there's a catch."

"Is that so?" he replied, sounding annoyed his own transparency, "Yes, there's work involved." he admitted. "Now would you like to hear about it, or do you just want to refuse outright?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I want to hear everything."

"I don't know if you're aware of this," Oscar began, switching into his formal OSI mode, "but we've worked with MI6 since the Second World War - that's the British Secret Intelligence Service, in case you didn't know. We share a certain amount of intelligence and have worked on several projects together, with some success. It's become clear over the last six months that there's a double agent in the organization and that classified information has been leaking to the Soviets. MI6 has set up numerous traps that have so far come up empty. They believe that the mole is our OSI liaison - a guy I sent over fifteen years ago, by the name of Robert Brooks. He's a good man and I'm reluctant to believe he'd sell us out, so I want to go over there and see what's going on for myself. Brooks has no idea he's under suspicion and we'd like to keep it that way, so we're setting up a decoy project to discuss with MI6."

"So where do I fit into this?"

"Well," Oscar said, sniffing again, "Brooks never could resist a tall, cool beauty."

"Are we talking about you or me?"

"Very funny. He has no difficulty resisting me, believe me."

"I see. I get to be bait."

"Well, partly, yes." Oscar said, sounding uncomfortable. "They've got an MI5 man on him right now, a senior agent named Peter Tillicott. He's an acquaintance of Brooks, and has in recent months gotten closer to him, but hasn't uncovered much of anything. "I'm hoping that with your beauty, intelligence, discretion, and horse sense, we just might get somewhere with this thing."

"Gee - resorting to flattery - you must really be worried I'm going to refuse." Jaime wondered for a moment just why it was so much fun to tease him. She simply couldn't resist.**  
**

"I mean every word of it." he replied, sounding offended. "Babe, I just want to size the situation up - and I want to make sure MI6 isn't using Bob as a scapegoat. But anyway, it's a very light duty job - hopefully more fun than work."

"Honey," she frowned, "isn't the Secretary going to take exception to you flying me to London because of my looks and my horse sense? Aren't we on thin ice with him already?"

"Well..." Oscar cleared his throat. "I thought that I...would...pay your way."

"Oscar - I can pay my own way!" Jaime protested.

"I know you _can_, Babe. It's just that I make a lot of money that I never spend, and it would make me happy to spend it on you."

"Hmm." she replied.

"So... is that... a no?" he asked, with apprehension.

"Oh gosh, Oscar, no it's not a 'no'!" she replied earnestly. "I would love to go to London with you."

He sighed with what she took to be relief. "I do have yet another ulterior motive." he added.

"Well, there's a surprise."

"I'm hoping we can show the Secretary that our partnership is an asset rather than a liability."

"Now that's a project I can get behind." Jaime replied warmly.


	2. Chapter 2

Their small hotel was in the heart of Victorian London, on a long tree lined street of row buildings in brown brick, with big white pillars at all the entrances. They crammed themselves and their luggage into a tiny elevator which creaked ever so slowly up to the fifth floor. 

As soon as they arrived in their small, cosy room, they dropped their suitcases and reached for each other. "Alone at last." Jaime murmured, holding him close. Everything felt right when she was in his arms. Oscar sighed contentedly and rubbed his cheek against hers. "You know," Jaime whispered into his ear, "I've got a great idea for my first British cultural experience."

"What's that?" he asked, kissing her cheekbone.

For hours now she had been craving the feeling of his skin against hers. As she ran her hand slowly down his chest and stomach, that familiar warm, breathless sensation made her deliciously weak. "I've never tried out an English bed before."

"Imagine that." he breathed, running his lips lightly over hers. "We have to fix that right away." He leaned to the left, and they fell to the bed together with a resounding bounce. It was a rare and luxurious pleasure for them to make love in the afternoon. They were leisurely and tender with each other, and Jaime felt thoroughly adored. They slept off some of their jet lag and woke at four to an alarm, groggy and content, and lay for awhile murmuring languidly to each other about London's funny accents, funny plumbing, and funny looking automobiles.

"Okay." Oscar finally said, "It's time to get serious." They lay facing each other, and all Jaime could see of him over the bed covers were his eyes, nose and a cowlick. She giggled.

"Really." he said. "We have to discuss this cocktail party."

"Yes, sir." She frowned so she'd look more sober.

He shook his head slightly and exhaled loudly. "You're not taking me seriously. It's the informal setting, isn't it? Here..." He reached over the side of the bed and plucked his tie from the floor. Knotting it expertly around his bare neck, he drew it to his throat. "...now will you pay attention? I'm the boss of the OSI you know."

"Oh yeah, that helps a lot." Jaime laughed as he lay back down beside her. "Okay, seriously," she added, still grinning, fingering the tie, "here's what I know. We're going to Sally and Nigel...?"

"Tomlinson" he prompted.

"Tomlinson's house. She's head of MI6, he's - I don't know- deputy director or something - of MI5. I still can't get those two organizations straight and I don't think I ever will. Anyway, they've organized this party to help us get the lay of the land and a look at the potential players. They're the only ones who know why we're really here. You're sure we can trust them?"

"Yes. As sure as I ever am."

"We're going to do that routine you've cooked up - I'm your new trophy girlfriend from the Human Resources department. I'm going to eavesdrop, flirt a little, and we'll see if we can pick up anything. Bob Brooks is our main object of interest. You're ostensibly here to talk to MI6 about some big weapons project that I'm supposed to know nothing about anyway, right?"

"Right. But you won't flirt too much."

"Right. But do you really think this little act we're planning is going to work?"

"Well, my feeling is that anytime you can make someone feel complacent and superior, you've got the advantage. Unfortunately that means sometimes having to look like a jerk, but there's not much harm in that. Hell, I do it all the time."

"You do not." Jaime smiled, running her fingers through his hair. She noted a sudden, funny, furtive look on his face "What?"

"There's one other thing." he added, tentatively.

"Well?!" she prompted.

"I had a little...um... fling...with Sally before she was married."

"What?!" Jaime blurted. She propped herself onto his chest, and looked hard into his eyes. "When?" she demanded, frowning and subtly tightening the knot around his throat.

"1960." He stared resolutely at the ceiling. "I was over here working on this liaison position that Bob occupies, and she was my contact at MI6. We hit it off, had a little affair, and then I went back to the States and she met Nigel. And that was it."

"Hmm." Jaime murmured, still feeling surprised - and a little jealous. Oscar had been such a solitary person before they had gotten together that she had come to think of herself as his only woman ever, and she liked it that way. She narrowed her eyes at him and continued to tighten the tie."So...how do you feel about her now?"

"You mean, am I pining for her while my true love throttles me with my own tie?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean." She replied, maintaining the threatening squint.

"No...strangely... I'm not." he croaked in a strangled voice.

"Good." she smiled, hooking her finger over the knot and releasing it.

"Phew." he said, "You're a tough interrogator." As he ran his hands up her back his expression became grave. "Now this really is serious."

"What is?"

"_Promise_ me you won't get into anything without discussing it with me first. I don't anticipate this being particularly dangerous, but even so, I want you to promise. Don't go anywhere, don't meet anyone without letting me know, okay?"

She sighed. "I'm a big girl, you know."

"Promise."

"What if I don't? What are you gonna do about it?" She lifted her head in mock defiance.

"I'll tell you what I'll do." he replied darkly, "I'll have Rudy dial you down to "kitten strength" and then you'll be exactly where I want you all the time."

Jaime considered the idea. "I like the sounds of that."

His sense of humor was failing fast, she could see. "Promise." he said again, his eyes dark.

"So bossy." she sighed. "Okay, okay, I promise. Sheesh."


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later Oscar and Jaime walked down the stairs and into the lobby showered and groomed for a cocktail party - and prepared to put on a performance. Oscar suggested they walk, and Jaime gladly agreed. They didn't have far to go - a fifteen minute walk would take them to the Tomlinson's house in Knightsbridge. In Washington Oscar was usually ferried around in limousines, but he clearly felt more relaxed here. It was a swanky area of town, Oscar explained as they walked by Harrod's, the famous department store. Jaime slowed as they passed the brightly lit exterior and beautiful window displays, and made Oscar promise her they would come back.

The Tomlinson's was a substantial red brick Victorian house, with white trim. Oscar reached for the knocker and looked to her.

"Ready?"

She nodded, feeling a flutter of nerves. She expected a servant to open the door, but instead it appeared to be their host, who greeted Oscar with what seemed like genuine enthusiasm.

He was short man - shorter than Jaime - about Oscar's age, handsome, with steely gray hair, a long nose and fantastically thick eyebrows. "Delighted." Nigel smiled to Jaime warmly as Oscar introduced them. He stood back and looked at both of them appraisingly. "Visitors from the land of the giants." he laughed.

"It's the Spam free diet, old sport." Oscar grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. A small blonde woman, also about Oscar's age, came into the entranceway. "Sally..." Oscar greeted her affectionately, kissing her on the cheek, "I'd like you to meet Jaime Sommers."

"How do you do?" Sally smiled to Jaime, shaking her hand. She was a very attractive woman, Jaime noted, with rather sharp features and a clear, keen intelligence in her eyes. Her expression was kind and welcoming, and Jaime instantly felt more at ease.

"Right." Sally said, clapping her hands together and casting her eye around the small group. "Shall we go in?"

Oscar put his arm around Jaime, and as they followed their hosts into a large wood paneled room they shifted into character. Sally engaged them in conversation while Nigel sought out drinks. Oscar became loud, and affected a look of dull affability. _The Ugly American, _Jaime thought. He began to manhandle her slightly, squeezing her too tight, dragging her around with him - treating her like a possession. She in turn took on an expression of martyred indifference, to which she tried to add a sense of slightly tragic vulnerability. There were about fifteen other people in the room, seventy percent men, all well dressed, murmuring politely to one another as they sipped martinis. Nigel returned with drinks, and Jaime excused herself from the group to investigate the canapés. She walked slowly through the room, picking up snippets of conversation as she went. "...and then the blighter spilled his drink in my lap..." "Well I thought old Kenny would never retire.." "Oh, yes, I got it on Portabello road. Keeps perfect time." It was a bit premature to be useful as she didn't know who anyone was, but she was simply curious.

She turned to look back at Oscar, who was easy to spot, being almost a head taller than most everyone else in the room. His watchful brown eyes rested on her a moment and then returned to Nigel. What was he saying? Something about the difficulty of parking in DC? This was going to be a painful evening.

Suddenly Sally was standing beside her. "You know, I'm awfully pleased to meet you." she said.

"I'm pleased to meet you too." Jaime replied. "Forgive me if I don't look it."

"Quite all right." Sally smiled. "Do you know, Oscar looks like a new man."

"You think so?" Jaime asked feeling pleased but maintaining a mask of indifference.

"Oh yes. He's making a perfect ass of himself at the moment of course, but I saw it as soon as you arrived." Jaime suppressed a smile. " He's _happy_. And you look very good together."

"Thank you." It was amazing how much this compliment warmed her. "I'm crazy about him." She and Sally looked in his direction. He was looming over some poor soul and tapping him on the chest with his index finger. "Except for at this moment, maybe." she winced, turning away.

"Well, he's quite clearly crazy about you too. When he told me about you on the telephone he was positively gushing - and as I'm sure you know, Oscar is not a man who gushes."

"He did?" Jaime was amazed. She couldn't imagine anyone being able to pry that kind of personal information out of him - much less have him offer it freely. "Wow. I guess because you're old friends ... oh, he told me that you and he have ... a history."

"Oh good - that's one less elephant in the room." Sally replied with relief. "Yes - a long time ago of course. I was quite taken with him - but neither of us would consider leaving our work. We were both young and idealistic, you know. And then Nigel came along, and that was that. I always thought Oscar would find someone - I just didn't think it would take him so long. He's obviously very selective." she smiled. As though on cue, Nigel glided up between them and took his wife's elbow.

"My darling, this young lady has work to do. You can't stand around all night talking about love."

"And what makes you think we were talking about love?"she asked irritably.

"Just the look on your face. I could see it from clear across the room." He gave her a knowing smile.

Sally sighed, rolled her eyes and looked at Jaime wearily. "You see what happens after nineteen years? He knows far too much."

"You had better leave Miss Sommers to me, dear. You go play with Oscar for a bit." Nigel said, placing his hand in the small of Jaime's back. "Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone." He steered her into the group. "Ah." he said, extending his hand to the man walking toward them, "Monsieur Jacques-Remy Marois of the French Intelligence Service." At a whisper, he added, "Bit of a cad." Jaime shook his hand and fought back a sense of intimidation. French people seemed to have that effect on her - they were so sleek, so continental. But then she remembered that it was her job tonight to be aloof and mysterious, and that would make her life easier - and more fun. Even if she didn't feel above it all, she could act that way. Everyone else could try hard to amuse her, instead of the other way around. As it turned out, Monsieur Marois was pleasant and interesting, and before conversation could dry up, Nigel moved her on.

He expertly ushered her around the room, making introductions, often with a little asides - "crashing bore...terribly ambitious...old salt...bit of a drunk..." She occasionally glanced toward Oscar, who hadn't moved much. He seemed to be getting louder, and she worried he was also getting drunk. Once when his eyes met hers, he gave her a large, goofy wink and she turned away looking as dismissive as was humanly possible.The act was working. Nearly everyone she had spoken to would glance to Oscar and then look back to her with expressions that suggested judgment. Some appeared to be sympathetic and even sorry for her, while others were cool and dismissive, clearly regarding her as a cold eyed opportunist. Nigel fetched her another martini, leaving her in a group of three MI5 operatives who quizzed her about life as an OSI employee. She explained to them, without enthusiasm, that she was only in the Human Resources department and not particularly interested in espionage. Inwardly she wished she could compare notes - it wasn't often she got to talk shop with operatives from other countries. As Oscar's laugh boomed out across the room, one of her companions, a thirty-ish fellow named Eric, looked at him appraisingly.

"Dating the boss, are you? he asked Jaime with an unpleasant smile.

"I guess so." she answered noncommittally. She hated the judgment she felt from him, and was almost overcome by the desire to squish a deviled egg into his face. Mercifully Nigel arrived with her martini, effectively ending that topic of conversation. As he moved her along, she muttered to him, "Where's this Bob Brooks, anyway?"

"Right this way." Nigel replied, steering her back toward the entrance. He grasped the shoulder of a man standing in a small group. "Trout," he interrupted. "I'd like you to meet one of your countrywomen." The man who turned to her was probably about fifty, slightly pudgy, with round blue eyes and a stubby nose. He had a little puff of light brown hair that rose from his forehead, reminding Jaime of the Gerber baby.

"Jaime Sommers," Nigel said with a flourish, "meet Bob Brooks - known to all as Trout." As they shook hands, Nigel excused himself, leaving Jaime alone to talk to Brooks.

Their conversation was banal, about where they each were from, his nickname, how he liked living in England, how did she like London so far - but Jaime didn't waste a moment's effort. Though she maintained a languid air, she offered Brooks all sorts of small encouragements. She began to smile more, lowering her eyes shyly when he complimented her, laughing at his jokes and even teasing him about his mid-Atlantic accent. It was almost too easy - reeling him in. His eyes shone with infatuation and before ten minutes was up he had offered to show her around London the next day.

"Well, I'll have to check with him." she said, gesturing toward Oscar, with a sort of sad resignation. Brooks seemed momentarily taken aback as though he had forgotten about Oscar completely, and then his eyes filled with sympathy.

"Oh, yes of course." he stammered. He paused a moment, evidently screwing up his courage to ask a difficult question. "Is he...good to you?"

Jaime shrugged sadly. "He's all right."She felt horribly disloyal to Oscar, and only hoped her discomfort didn't show.

When another man joined them Brooks clapped his hand on the new arrival's shoulder and said, "Miss Sommers, I'd like you to meet my good friend Peter Tillicott." Tillicott grasped Jaime's hand and placed his other over it. "Enchanted." he said, gazing at her appreciatively. Jaime offered a listless smile. So this was the man keeping an eye on Brooks. Tillicott was remarkable by how nondescript he was. He was somewhere under six feet tall, with features that were neither handsome nor ugly. He was neither fat nor thin, though she could sense that he was physically strong. _Just what an agent should be_, she thought - someone who flies under the radar. The only thing Jaime could really note about him was that he looked like he hadn't been living an entirely virtuous life. He was slightly puffy under the eyes, and his pallor was bluish.

Before they were able to begin another banal conversation, Oscar joined them, placing his arm heavily and possessively over Jaime's shoulder. "I see you've met Trout and Tillicott." he said, his words slightly slurred.

"That's right." she answered coolly. "In fact, darling, as you have meetings all day tomorrow, Mr. Brooks has kindly offered to show me the town."

"That right?" Oscar asked, looking at Brooks, who raised his eyebrows in what Jaime thought was a somewhat cheeky manner. "Well isn't that nice. But you and I have to catch up too, Trout."

"Oh, of course, Oscar. At your convenience." he said.

"You pick the place and time and call me in the morning." Oscar was swaying slightly. Jaime put her arm around him to brace him, contemplating how terrible it would be if he were to fall over. The large American embarrasses himself and his country.

"Maybe it's time we left. I'm hungry." Jaime looked around the room and caught Sally's eye, who nodded knowingly and moved in their direction.

"Sure you don't want another drink?" Oscar asked. "They make a hell of a good martini in this joint. Whoo."

---

In a few moments and with relatively little fuss, Sally had them bundled into a limousine. As they pulled away from the Tomlinson's house, Oscar sighed in relief and took Jaime's hand in his own. They sat in silence for a time, watching the city pass by. Having collected her thoughts, Jaime glanced at Oscar, hoping to reacquaint herself with the real man rather than the oaf she had just left with.

"I'm not drunk, if that's what you're thinking." he stated.

"Really?" she asked incredulously. "You were really slugging them back."

"Water for the most part, thanks to Nigel."

"Wow. I'm impressed." Jaime replied, laughing with relief. "I was wondering if I was going to have to carry you."

"You're probably drunker than I am." he said with a sly look. "I'm thinking I might be able to take advantage of you later." He leaned over and kissed her right on the ear, which he knew perfectly well was a ticklish spot. She cringed and pushed him away.

"Bad man." she giggled, holding him at arm's length against another attack. "You were _horrendous_ in there tonight." she added.

"Thank you." he said, as though it were a lavish compliment. "You were pretty awful yourself. If looks could kill, I would have been dead about twenty times over. Truly frightening."

Jaime smiled. "Where did you learn to act like such a nincompoop? On the Washington party circuit?"

"Yup - I learned from the best. And you, where did you pick up that ice queen routine? "

"Well, I _was_ a teenager once."

"Glad I missed that." He turned and glanced out of the back window of the limo. "You know, it's possible we're being followed. Shall we give 'em the slip?"

"Yes!" Jaime replied with enthusiasm. "I don't want to spend the rest of the evening pretending I don't like you."

When they were next stopped in traffic, they both slid out the left hand side of the car and into the right side door of an empty cab. After traveling a short distance, Oscar slapped a couple of pound notes into the driver's hand and they did the same again. Four times over they passed cab to cab, once just passing through, checking to see if they were being tailed, before they finally weaved into a crowd of pedestrians.

"Free at last." she grinned.

They ended up in Bloomsbury. Jaime loved the happy hubbub of the neighborhood, particularly the crowds of people spilling out of the pubs, standing in the street, laughing and chatting with pints of ale in hand. They chose an Indian restaurant, reasoning that the food might be more appetizing than standard British fare.

Jaime leaned back in her chair, smiling, feeling relieved and relaxed. The restaurant was dark and cozy, filled with warm colors and soft Indian music.

Oscar reached across the table and took her hand. "Isn't this great?" he smiled.

Jaime nodded and squeezed his hand in return.

"Shall we get business out of the way and then we can relax?"

"Sure." Jaime said. "I'll start? I can sum up my impressions pretty quickly. There is definitely something up with Bob Brooks - but I can't tell what at this point. He seems...overtaxed... or something. I'll know more tomorrow."

"Oh yeah," he said with pretend offense, "Thanks for making up a day full of meetings for me. Now I'm going to have to figure out what to do with myself. I suppose I can see what Sally is up to at MI6."

"I can't believe I'm leaving you with your old girlfriend all day."

"That's right," Oscar replied. "We're going to have a really hot time too - talking about funding cuts and governmental interference in operations. Anything else catch your eye tonight?"

"Well, I liked Nigel and Sally - for what that's worth, and I found it hard to get a read on Peter Tillicott. He seems capable." Oscar nodded in agreement. "And that's about it. I let a whole bunch of people chat me up and it was a lot like any office party - except a little more exotic. What about you? Did you get anywhere?"

"Not really. We'll see what happens tomorrow." He caressed her hand. "So what do you want to do in this town, in addition to going to the British museum to see the Mesopotamian artifacts I've been wanting to see for a decade?"

"Mesopotamian artifacts?" Jaime asked with disbelief. "Boy, you're a wild one. Okay - I'd add to that Harrod's, and the Tate Museum, and the Tower of London and antiques and book stores and well - everything."

"You're on." he grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaime had been concerned by the way he waggled his eyebrows the night before that Bob Brooks might be something of a letch, but as it turned out he was more the courtly type. He was a good tour guide who took pride in his adopted city, and showed her numerous interesting sights. She would have adored every minute of it, had she been able to switch Bob for Oscar. There was nothing in his behavior that she found suspect or unusual, until just before they parted company in the late afternoon... 

------

Bob Brooks had proposed to Oscar that they meet at their customary watering hole, _The_ _Dog and Bone_, at four o' clock. Oscar arrived five minutes late and spotted Bob at a small table in the middle of the pub, already guzzling a beer. Ordering a pint of his own and a second for his companion, he made his way through the crowd of regulars.

"Afternoon, Trout." he said pleasantly.

"Oscar! Do sit."

"Where's Jaime?" Oscar asked as he seated himself, trying hard to sound casual.

"She's in good hands. I sent her off with Peter Tillicott. Is that for me?" he asked, pointing to the extra beer. "How very kind."

Oscar decided Tillicott was safe company, though he hadn't liked the glint in his eye when he was with Jaime the night before. Of course, he didn't like any glints in any men's eyes when they were with Jaime, which made it difficult to be rational.

"What did you two do today?"

"Well, we met at Trafalgar Square, popped in to the National Portrait Gallery, went to Liberty's - you know, the silk place..."

"Uh huh." Oscar didn't bother to disguise his jealousy. These were the things he wanted to be doing with Jaime.

"She loved that. We spent a lot of time there - had lunch there too in fact, window shopped a bit... it was very nice... and," Brooks added with a waggle of his eyebrows, "she is _gorgeous_."

"Yes she is." Oscar replied tersely, not wanting to discuss her any further.

Jaime was right, he thought. There was something wrong with Brooks - an addiction problem, personal problem, illness - it was impossible to tell which. But where Bob Brooks had once been a wiry and alert man, he was now puffy, with watery eyes and a slight tremor in his hands. Was it the stress of being a double agent?

"And how were _you_ this morning?" Brooks asked jovially, clearly implying that Oscar must have been hung over.

"Fine, thank you." Oscar replied. How should he approach this discussion, he wondered? Brooks was off his guard - should he be kindly and non-threatening to keep him that way, or should he be authoritative and hope that Brooks would crumple? A little of both, perhaps. They chatted casually for a few minutes longer - the price of living in London, the weather in Washington, how Oscar was getting along with the new Secretary of State - before Oscar decided to get down to it. He was going to have to rattle him a little.

"So Bob, how _are_ you?"

"What do you mean?" Brooks asked, looking startled. "I'm fine..."

"You don't seem fine."

"I don't?"

Oscar shook his head. "I have to be honest with you. MI6 is concerned about your performance of late, as are we."

Brooks frowned and looked injured. "Serving two masters isn't easy you know."

"You used to handle it - but your investigation and report on the Tower Bridge incident was underfed at best. I've never seen such poor work from you."

Brooks shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Not my finest hour, I suppose..."

"So..." Oscar demanded, "what's going on?"

Brooks blinked rapidly. Oscar could see there was an admission coming. "Well, I suppose you should know," he said finally, "Sissy left me in November."

"Oh..." Oscar frowned sympathetically, "I'm sorry. What happened?"

Brooks shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Okay." Oscar replied evenly. But...shouldn't you have told me?"

"I didn't think it was any of your business." Brooks snapped.

"I could have arranged for you to take leave if you needed it."

"Oh yes. Well, that's all right." Brooks looked a little sheepish at his own hostility. Attempting to be more forthcoming, he added, "I haven't been seeing as much of the children as I would like - you know, my schedule makes it difficult, and then of course they're teenagers and not particularly anxious to spend time with their Dad anyway."

Oscar nodded. "That must be very difficult."

"Yes, it is." He stared into his beer thoughtfully. "On the other hand I'm relieved. The marriage hadn't been working for a long time, so in that regard I think we're better off. It took me awhile to see it that way, mind you."

"Seeing anyone new?"

Brooks shook his head. "Couple of dates - not very inspirational - that's all."

"And how's your health?"

"My health? I'm fine. A bit out of shape, that's all. What does my health have to do with anything?"

Oscar leaned back and looked at his agent appraisingly. "You don't seem like yourself, Bob, and I'm trying to figure out why. Any, uh, trouble with drink, or drugs, anything like that?"

"Certainly not!"

"Well help me out here. What else in your life has been out of the ordinary?"

"Everything is out of the ordinary." he shrugged angrily. "New home, new routines. It's true - I've been completely discombobulated. But look, I've been trying to get myself in order. I even took myself off to see the MI6 psychologist, if that makes you feel any better."

"That's good." Oscar affirmed.

Brooks shook his head dismissively. "Not really. Hasn't helped me at all." A slightly embarrassed smile crossed his face. "Do you know, I've been seeing a fortuneteller - I know it sounds silly - but I feel a lot better after one visit with him than I do after ten visits to the psychologist."

"A fortuneteller?" Oscar's frowned in disbelief.

"Oh yes. He's amazing. His name is Victor Protheroe, and he has a very good reputation. He says things are going to improve for me, and I believe him. I can feel it happening."

"Does he also tell you you're an idiot?" Oscar demanded. There was a tingling sensation at the back of his neck - his instincts were jangling. "Does this involve hypnosis?"

Brooks blinked and placed his beer carefully on the table. "Oh no. We have a cup of tea and he reads my tea leaves." He was trying to sound reassuring.

Oscar leaned forward in his chair. "Is this the behavior of a rational man? You hold the national secrets of two countries - and you're pouring your life story out to some charlatan who reads your tea leaves? Jesus, Bob." He glared at the man across from him, who was wilting steadily under his gaze. "How did you find this guy? Do you know anything about him?"

"Of course, Peter told me about him." His forehead shone with perspiration.

"Peter? Peter Tillicott?!" Oscar sat back in his chair, alarmed by this information. It was too weird. A MI6 fortuneteller? There was definitely something wrong with this picture. Was Brooks playing him somehow? He seemed more like a duped kid than a double agent. Oscar looked hard at him. Brooks squirmed, gulped, opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again. Appropriately, he looked like a fish gasping for air.

"What?" Oscar snapped.

"Um." He raised his eyebrows, and smiled uncertainly. "In fact...I believe Peter and Miss Sommers were on their way to see Protheroe when we parted company."

"What?!" Oscar started upward. pulling out his wallet and slapping some bills on to the table. "Let's go." His face was grim. "I feel a need to have my tealeaves read." He grabbed Brooks by the arm and unceremoniously pulled him from his chair.

"Oscar..." Brooks protested, dragged along like a reluctant child behind his mother, "...you're overreacting! She's fine. Pete's a good guy - and Protheroe - well he's a good guy too..."

"Where's your car?" Oscar demanded as they burst out of the pub into the street.

"Right there." bleated Brooks, pointing half a block down.

Oscar pushed him to the car, stood over him as he unlocked it and practically threw him into the driver's seat.

"Take me there." he said tersely. "Fast."

Oscar squeezed his large frame into the Vauxhall. Brooks looked at him tentatively as he turned the key in the ignition. "Oscar," he said soothingly, "I don't want you to embarrass yourself." He patted him on the arm. "Honestly... I'm not sure how much she fancies you, old chap."

Oscar glared at him with an expression of disgusted disbelief.

"GO!" he bellowed. Brooks scrambled for the gear shift as though in fear for his life. "Faster!" Oscar bellowed again as they backed out of the parking spot. Brooks quickly made his way into the midday traffic, Oscar glaring at him all the while. "And don't call me _old chap_." he growled.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter Tillicott told her he would pick her up in an hour and left her in the company of the fortuneteller. Victor Protheroe smiled at Jaime in a way that suggested they shared a wonderful secret. He was an odd looking man - bald, with a thin halo of blondish hair on the top of his head, large, heavy lidded green eyes, and a large space between his front teeth. What really struck Jaime were his amazingly short legs and rounded belly. She decided he looked like an unattractive duckling - but that wasn't fair to ducklings. He had a beautiful deep voice and a warm manner. Jaime didn't trust him at all. In fact, everything in her told her to be very wary. She shuddered to think of Oscar's reaction if anything went wrong - she had promised him she would not do this exact thing. 

He ceremoniously invited her to his "parlor" as he called it, where he would conduct their reading. As they passed through his cluttered and stuffy living space to a room at the very back of the apartment, Jaime noted that its door was part of a bookcase, and when closed, the room would be neatly sealed off and invisible. She wondered if you had to correctly choose one of the hundreds of books to open it. Wasn't that how it worked in movies? Whatever the case - it was disturbing.

"Why the hidden door?" she asked casually.

"My dear," he purred, turning to her and standing far too close, "I have some antiquities from the world of magic and spiritualism that are too valuable to simply leave lying around in my apartment." His fingers fluttered over his bow tie with pride.

"I see." she smiled, backing up a foot.

"Come." he said, gesturing her forward. Jaime was relieved that he made no move to close the door behind them.

The room was exactly as she expected. Dark, windowless, and small, it was completely surrounded in heavy curtains of velvet and brocade. In the center was a round table covered with yet more dark velvet. A tiny red lamp on it provided the room's only light. Jaime couldn't see any antiques of any kind, and assumed they must be behind the curtains. What kinds of treasures, she wondered? Houdini's handcuffs? The pickled fetus of a three headed calf? She also sensed there was something amiss with this room - something more ominous than the lack of antiques. Whenever she felt this way, she immediately paid attention to what her bionic ear was telling her. This time what was notable was the dead silence. Normally she could hear activity from a huge radius all around her, but it was perfectly quiet - except for a very low electrical hum. She suppressed an uneasy shiver.

"Do sit, my dear. I'll put on the tea."

"I don't drink tea." she lied. "Um...could you read my palm, or Tarot cards instead?"

"But of course my darling girl!" Protheroe replied, seating himself across from her. "I shall start by reading your palm. But first, do tell me something about yourself."

"Aren't you supposed to learn everything from my palm?"

Protheroe gave her an unamused smile.

Jaime extended her left hand. "Your right, please." Protheroe corrected.

Jaime shook her head. "I'm left handed." she said firmly.

"Very well." Protheroe replied, slightly put out by her assertiveness. He took her hand in his and peered at her palm for only a moment before turning his huge green eyes to Jaime's with a look of amusement. "Oh dear." he laughed, reaching into his left pocket. "Won't get much of anywhere without my specs." He placed a pair of reading glasses on the end of his nose and again turned his attention to her hand. He fidgeted a little, adjusted his position in his chair, took two large breaths, glanced at her palm and then looked up to her again, frowning apologetically. "I do beg your pardon - but I am a martyr to my asthma." He articulated "asthma" as though each letter was extremely precious. He let go of Jaime's hand, and pulling a puffer from his pocket, put it to his lips. As he did this, a tiny alarm bell went off in Jaime's head - but it was too late - as he squeezed the puffer a fine mist blasted into her face. She wanted to stand up - she willed herself to do so - but instead she felt herself crumple to the table, and then - blackness.

-----

As they made their way through London, Oscar rooted through the glove compartment, retrieving a pair of handcuffs while interrogating Brooks as to the layout of the psychic's apartment, which floor it was on and whether he was likely to have company. Was Tillicott likely to be there? Anxious not to make Oscar any angrier than he already was, Brooks drove through London like a man possessed - and hoped the police wouldn't stop them. Pulling up to Protheroe's apartment, Oscar was out of the car before it stopped moving. He leaned in through the passenger side window and extended his hand. Brooks, with some surprise took it in his, and before he knew it Oscar had cuffed him to the passenger side door handle with his own handcuffs.

"I don't think you're a traitor, Bob, but if you're not here when I come out of this building, I'm going to wonder. So you just stay put, okay?"

Stretched awkwardly across the passenger seat, looking much like a fish laid out on the river bank, Trout could only nod as Oscar turned to the apartment.

-----

Oscar picked the lock easily and slipped in, gun in hand. It was quiet. He figured Jaime and the fortuneteller must be in the back room Trout had described. Cautiously he making his way through the apartment, he saw the bookcase with the door in it - thankfully just ajar. He couldn't hear voices - but he could hear some kind of buzzing electrical noise - that made his adam's apple constrict. He silently made his way to the door and peered in.

----

Jaime was only distantly aware of being dragged into sitting position and tied tightly, nor was she especially aware of the electrodes being placed on her forehead. She was drifting in some sort of relaxed but unpleasant state. The only thing she really could feel were the glands under her jaw, which ached - that is until the sudden searing pain in her head - unlike anything she had ever experienced. If she had been conscious, she would have said it was like someone was scrambling her brain with an electrified egg beater. She would have screamed if she were able. She was certainly screaming on the inside. She saw recent memories - the face of the Victor Protheroe, the Houses of Parliament, Oscar holding her hand in the back of a cab - pass before her, shaking violently as though the ground underneath them was being dug up with a jackhammer. Then they disintegrated into one another and shattered before her mind's eye.

----

Oscar felt sweat rise on his forehead. The room was windowless, with huge velvet curtains drawn back to the corners. A man in a bow tie was standing by the opposite wall, his hand resting on a machine that was as tall as he was. Oscar couldn't identify what it was, though it looked to him something like a narrow green refrigerator with knobs, dials and gauges all over it. But his attention was arrested by what was happening on the other side of the room. Jaime, to his absolute horror, was tied in what looked like a small barber's chair, electrodes to her head. If she hadn't been restrained, she would surely be in a seizure. She was shuddering helplessly, her eyes rolled back. Oscar crossed the room in two strides, and jammed the muzzle of his gun to the head of the unsuspecting fortuneteller.

"Turn that thing off." He demanded, his voice filled with rage. The fortuneteller jumped and paled, and with shaking hands immediately turned a dial and flipped three switches.

"What the hell...?" Oscar found it impossible to finish the sentence. Choked by a white hot rage, he had to muster every ounce of discipline he had not to beat this man to a pulp - or worse. Keeping the gun to Protheroe's head, he grabbed the back of the fortuneteller's neck and moved him swiftly toward Jaime. "Untie her right now."

----

And then it stopped, just as suddenly as it had started, and a sweet sense of relief poured through her. That last memory, the one of Oscar in the cab, re-formed in her mind. She felt herself surfacing and hearing a familiar voice her heart lifted. Was he in the cab? What was he saying? He sounded angry. Was he was there with her? Wishful thinking...? She struggled to lift her head to look for him - and then she heard what sounded like a blow and a grunt of pain.

------

Oscar fell violently. The gun flew from his hand and he was propelled forward, toppling into Jaime and causing the chair to tip over sideways. The electrodes popped from her forehead, and they crashed to the floor together in a thunderous heap.

Consciousness burst upon her in that moment - but still she clenched her eyes shut - she would play dead until she had something resembling a plan of action. She had landed more face down than on her side, so that her head was jammed into the floor and the heavy chair was digging into her back. Adrenaline coursed through her and her heart raced wildly. Oscar was unconscious, sprawled close beside her. He was definitely alive - she could hear him breathing - but she couldn't tell how badly hurt he might be. She yearned to reach for him, but instead forced herself to focus on her breath, to keep her body relaxed. She couldn't tell what Victor Protheroe had just done to her or whether the searing pain in her head had damaged her bionics in any way.

"You damned fool, he could have shot me!" she heard the fortuneteller splutter accusingly.

"But he didn't, did he?" replied a triumphant voice. "And look what we've landed. No more brook trout for us, Victor, old lad, we have the big fish, right here." Was that Peter Tillicott?

"If you didn't knock him into a coma. And would you stop waving that bloody weapon around?" Protheroe snapped. "Who is he?"

"That, my boy, is Oscar Goldman of the OSI in America. He is a goldmine of secrets, Victor. A_ goldmine_." It _was_ Peter Tillicott.

There was a moment's silence - Jaime wondered what they were doing, and then realized they were silently marveling over their luck. "My God. Too good to be true, really." Protheroe said finally. "He ought to be worth a fortune. And by the time we've finished with him, he'll have coughed up every single thing he's ever known, right down to the pet name his mummy gave him when he was a baby."

Tillicott chuckled. "Now look, "he said, "where he goes MI6 is sure to follow. We've got to get them bundled up and tucked away right now. I don't want either of them to make so much as a peep. Better re-sedate her ... and give him a puff too." She could hear the voice moving toward them. "We'll need to clear off for a few hours. Then we'll have them out of the country by tomorrow morning, and we'll celebrate."

"Are we taking her too? Why bother when we have him?"

Tillicott hesitated. "Actually, you're right. Why don't you give her the whole treatment and we can set her back out on the street none the wiser. She might eventually wonder where Goldman has gotten to, but I expect she'll be happy to be rid of him."

Jaime could sense that he was leaning down toward them. She readied herself - she was facing the daunting task of bursting out of the chair and the restraints so quickly that he would have no opportunity to use the gun he was apparently holding. As always, they had underestimated her strength and had tied her with mere half inch cord. But before she could make her move, there was a furious struggle beside her. She opened her eyes to glimpse Oscar scrambling to his feet - so he hadn't been unconscious either - but now she almost wished he had been. He could be shot! Propelled by her fears for him, she briskly snapped the ropes on her right arm, flipped the chair onto its side, ripped through the restraints on her legs, released her left arm and was standing - all in a single instant. Oscar was gripping Tillicott's throat with one hand, and struggling to gain control of the gun with the other. Tillicott was strong, and though Oscar had a small advantage, he clearly needed help. It never failed to amaze Jaime how easily she could deal with problems such as this. She tidily wrenched the gun from Tillicott's hand, made sure it wasn't cocked, and slipped it into Oscar's coat pocket. Taking advantage of Tillicott's momentary shock, Oscar punched him hard in the face. As Tillicott staggered, Jaime quietly placed her right hand on his shoulder and simply caused him to crumple to the floor. While she pressed down on the middle of his back to keep him immobile, Oscar retrieved some of the rope that had been used to restrain Jaime, and bound him tightly.

"Now that's style." Oscar panted, flashing her a relieved smile.

It suddenly occurred to them that Protheroe was nowhere to be seen. Oscar pulled the gun from his pocket and began a frantic search through the flat. Jaime stood in the middle of the room and concentrated her hearing. She could just make out the sound of rapid footsteps and hard breathing in what sounded like a stairwell - to her left, she figured.

"Oscar!" she yelled "Come and keep an eye on Tillicott. I'm going after Protheroe."

"Jaime, NO!" Oscar yelled, racing back into the room - just in time to see her leap from an open window.

"God damn it!" he bellowed, smacking his fist against the wall in frustration. He stuck his head out the window. She was standing down there looking like any normal human being, scanning the street. Closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief, he turned back into the room. Tillicott stared at him from the floor in dumb amazement.

"What are you looking at?" Oscar snapped as he picked up the telephone.

Jaime was waiting for him as Protheroe burst through the alley exit, looking frenzied and winded. She grabbed his arm and slammed him up against the brick wall. - he needed to know she was not to be toyed with. "Mr. Protheroe," she smiled coolly, "we haven't finished our reading."

Oscar tied Protheroe securely and stood up. The two men were lined up side by side on the floor - like sardines, Jaime thought. Oscar turned to her and without a word, pulled her into a secure embrace. He didn't have to say anything - she could feel his anxiety by his heart pounding in his chest.

"Are you okay?"

"I seem to be fine." she replied, grateful for the warmth and comfort of his body. Though she had a slight headache, she decided it would be better not to mention it. "Are _you_ okay?" Running her hand over the back of his head, she felt a substantial lump and a wetness that had to be blood. "Oh, honey..." she grimaced.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Oscar demanded of the two men bound on the floor.

"Not a word, Protheroe." Tillicott warned.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that life is going to be a lot nicer for whoever starts talking first..."

Jaime looked closely at both men. Tillicott's expression was sullen and opaque. He was a well trained man who was unlikely to give anything away. Protheroe, on the other hand, was a different story. Even though he was tied up, clearly defeated, surely facing a long prison sentence - there was something smug in his expression, and his eyes were brimming with something like excitement. He was dying to talk to them.

Oscar evidently had come to the same conclusion. He smiled at Tillicott with cold satisfaction. "Looks like you picked the wrong business partner, pal."

Before long the fortuneteller's flat was swarming with British intelligence personnel. Jaime was describing her ordeal to a medic and an electrical engineer when she noticed Oscar across the room, holding an icepack to his head, in an intense conference with Sally. Somehow she knew by his demeanor that eavesdropping was in order.

"I've got to get Jaime back to Washington immediately. I need a flight right now."

"But Oscar...we need you here." Sally protested.

He shook his head. "I can't take the risk. I've got to get her back home."

"We've got a very good medical team..."

"She has a particular condition..." he interrupted, "and there's only one doctor I trust." Jaime abruptly excused herself from the medic and walked toward them.

There was a glint of interest in Sally's eyes. "Ah - a _condition_." she said. "Dr. Wells, perhaps...?"

Oscar hesitated. He clearly had not shared information about bionics with his British counterparts and didn't want to now. Jaime hoped he would at least be grateful to her for saving him from answering that question.

"Oscar - no!" she interrupted.

"Jaime..." he answered, looking equal parts determined and and regretful.

"I'm _fine_." she insisted. "Don't I seem fine to you?"

He shook his head, a deep frown on his face. "We don't know what that thing did to you..."

"We can call the... um...specialist right now. We don't have to go running back to Washington. Could we at least find out what went on in here tonight _before _we panic?"

"She has a point." Sally said gently.

He shot her a dirty look.

"Oscar," Jaime said, squeezing his arm, "I've been looking forward to spending time in this fabulous city with the man I love, and if my boss messes that up for me, I'm going to be really upset."

He exhaled heavily, looking so conflicted Jaime almost felt guilty. Almost.

"We can have you both back in Washington in a few short hours, if need be." Sally said soothingly, patting Oscar's shoulder. "You're in a perfect position to keep a close eye on the patient."

Jaime smiled at Sally, who looked back at her with a conspiratorial glint her eye. Perhaps it wasn't fair for them to gang up on the poor man, but she was grateful nonethless.

"Okay, okay." Oscar sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat.


	6. Chapter 6

It took another hour for the preliminary investigation in Protheroe's flat to wind down. Sally separated the two suspects and had them removed to MI6. Oscar managed to make a call to Rudy, who told him to calm down. He and Jaime then returned with the rest of the entourage to headquarters, for what promised to be several more hours of trying to sort out exactly what had gone on in Victor Protheroe's apartment. 

Walking through the enormaous doors of the MI6 building, they saw Nigel in conference with a small circle of people. As soon as he saw Oscar and Jaime he dispersed the group and hurried over, looking exhilarated.

"Come on, you two. Protheroe has been singing like a bird to Sally in the car on the way over here. We're hoping to get a taped confession from him right now." He lead them briskly to an elevator, and punched the down button. "Fascinating stuff, Sally says, though she's not sure if she believes him."

"Are you getting anything out of Tillicott?" Oscar asked as they stepped inside.

"Not yet. Not likely to, either. Tight as a drum, that one."

"Is Brooks implicated?"

"Ah, not - "

"Oh damn it!" Oscar interrupted. "I forgot - I left him handcuffed in his car at Protheroe's place."

"Right." Nigel said slowly, raising his woolly eyebrows. "I'll send someone over to collect him. This way." he said as they exited the elevator. "I tell you," he added as they walked down a long hallway, "the last thing the British Secret Service needs is another bloody mole. We've barely recovered from the last lot."

They passed through a heavy metal door, into a dark room with a large window at the back - a two way mirror. There were numerous people milling around, one or two of whom Jaime recognized from the cocktail party. On the other side of the window, Sally and Victor Protheroe were seated across from one another, as though they were about to start rehearsing a scene from a play. Protheroe's voice came through the intercom as he amiably told Sally about his interest in neuroscience. Nigel gestured to a row chairs set up in front of the window as he moved to a desk, leaned down and pushed a button.

"Our guests are here Sal and we're taping, so go ahead." Sally touched her earpiece and nodded.

"Now Mr. Protheroe," Sally interrupted, smiling and leaning forward. "You were telling me all about this marvelous machine on the way over here. Could you describe for me again? I think I missed some of the details in the car." Her tone was almost reverential, and Protheroe responded by straightening his bow tie and lifting his chin.

"Well," he began, with a flourish of his hand, "it's something that has taken me many years to develop. This is my newest and best. It's a mark five, and I call it _the Tenderizer_. Its purpose, to use lay terminology, is essentially to 'soften up' a subject up for hypnosis."

"Hypnosis? Really?" Sally sounded as though she were merely having an interesting casual conversation.

"That's right. I am one of the world's leading hypnotists, and in my drive for better and better results, I invented and perfected my machine."

"How does it work?"

"Well, the Tenderizer causes what I might call temporary neurological disorder - a confusion in the mind that makes it more easy to penetrate by hypnosis. As you probably know, some people are more resistant to hypnosis than others. The machine renders any subject wonderfully pliable."

"But how does it do it?" Sally pressed.

"Well, even I can not say _how_ exactly it does it. The brain is the world's most complex computer, you know." He laughed lightly." But suffice to say that when the electrodes are placed on the frontal lobe area, it creates an charge that closely mimics the electrical impulse running through the neural transmitters of the brain - except that I added the master stoke of a slight oscillation in the impulse - which is what I believe causes the the temporary neurological disorder." Protheroe paused to take a sip of water. Nigel, leaning on the two way mirror, turned to Oscar and Jaime, looking incredulous.

"Genius or lunatic?" he asked.

Oscar shook his head, frowning. "Tough call at this point."

"Possibly both." said Nigel, returning his attention to the interview.

"So it's like electro-shock therapy?" Sally continued.

"Only in as much as a horse drawn cart is like a Ferrari!" replied Protheroe, insulted. "Electro-shock therapy is a blunt instrument by comparison."

"Of course." Sally smiled. "Now tell me how this changes the effects of hypnosis?"

"Oh, my dear!" Protheroe replied, leaning forward with excitement. "It's absolutely extraordinary! They tell you everything! Every tiny little secret they hold in their hearts and minds! The British government had better pick this technology up before the Soviets get it. Can you imagine the advantage you'd have? I can teach your people my techniques." He smiled. "In exchange for my freedom and a reasonable sum of money, of course."

Jaime exchanged a disbelieving glance with Oscar.

"Of course." Sally smiled coolly. "Now would you be so good as tell me who you have been extracting information from?"

"Well, as you might be aware, we have gotten some very interesting bits from Bob Brooks." Protheroe chortled with satisfaction.

"Yes we were aware of that. Does he _know_ that you've done this to him?"

"Oh no!" Protheroe replied breathlessly. "That's the beauty of it, you see. In hypnosis I instruct him to forget everything except a harmless bit of fortune telling - and he leaves without a care in the world. Isn't it marvelous?"

"Yes it is."she affirmed. "Have you used anyone else as a subject?"

"Well, we were about to try out that American girl today. Peter thought we ought to find out if she was who she said she was, but we were interrupted by that Goldman fellow. And him! Oh, we could have done marvelous things with him!"

From the corner of her eye, Jaime saw Oscar shift uncomfortably in his chair.

"Do you think the ...ah... Tenderizer as you call it...does any harm?"

"Oh, a bit perhaps. In the very long term - not at first." Protheroe replied, in a tone intended to minimize the issue. "Perhaps Bob Brooks isn't quite as sharp as he used to be. I have wondered if there's damage to the myelin sheath. I don't know." He shrugged, clearly untroubled.

"Is it painful?"

Protheroe cocked his head to one side and scrunched his face up, in a sort of apologetic gesture. "I believe it is a little painful during the actual application of the current. But they forget all about it, you see." he added hastily.

Jaime could feel Oscar boring holes into her with his eyes, but she decided to ignore him. At least the headache was gone, and she didn't _feel_ any slower than she had this morning. Thank God it didn't affect the bionic implants in her brain...

After regaling them with details of the invention of the machine, Protheroe suddenly stopped talking twenty minutes later, his demeanor becoming sullen. If they wanted more, he said, they would have to pay him handsomely. His need for acknowledgment had finally been outstripped by his desire for money.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a cool and foggy along the banks of the Thames. They were both properly equipped for English weather with raincoats and a large umbrella.

It was nine o'clock by the time they had dealt with the loose ends from the day's events. Sally ordered them to leave, insisting everything else could wait till morning. Once again Jaime was relieved and delighted to leave the crowd behind and to have Oscar entirely to herself. They had a quiet meal in a pub and then walked down to St Paul's cathedral. Leaning against the railing by the river side, side by side, hands in their pockets, they gazed up at the gigantic dome, which was gloriously lit up in the dark.

Jaime glanced over to him. He had been unusually quiet since they had left the MI6 offices, and his pensive air left her feeling uneasy. She had asked him several times if he were all right, an affirmed that yes, he was better than all right, and the cloud would lift from him for a few minutes - but then it would settle again. Now as he looked silently at the giant cathedral, she decided she was going to have to push harder.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"No!" he protested, turning to her. That answer came _too_ quickly, she thought.

"Come on." She insisted. "No clamming up, remember? You're mad at me because I went in there."

He looked at his shoes. "I made a hell of a mess of this whole thing."

"What do you mean?"

"I was inches away from beating the living hell out of those two sons of bitches today. When I saw you in that chair..." he closed his eyes as if to shut out the memory. "I almost lost control. I've never been so enraged in my entire life."

"But you didn't lose control, sweetheart."

"I was so out of my mind that I forgot about Tillicott. How could I possibly forget about Tillicott?"

"I thought you were great in there today. Oscar, don't forget that we wrapped this thing up and we're both here and pretty much in one piece. That's _good_ news."

"It was _luck_, Jaime." he said forcefully. He turned to face her. "And you're just as stubborn as you ever were. When are you ever going to actually listen to me?"

"So you _are_ mad at me."

"I guess I am." he said, sighing and leaning back on the railing. "Why do you do that? Go sticking your neck out at every available opportunity?"

Jaime felt a wave of guilt. She had pushed her luck today, she knew. "I'm sorry." she said sincerely, leaning into him. "I know I scared the hell out of you - and I apologize. I broke my promise." She looked up at him and saw some hint of acceptance. "It's just that I knew something was up - and I didn't want to let go of the opportunity. You understand that, don't you?" Oscar nodded reluctantly. "I don't know." Jaime sighed, folding her arms and staring at the very top of St Paul's. "Maybe I still feel I need to prove myself to you."

Oscar gazed at her in disbelief. "Jaime! I think you're... miraculous. You don't have to prove anything to me. Anyway, it's not you I'm worried about - it's everything that's beyond your control that worries me."

"Is that so? Sometimes I think you want me tucked away in a white padded room. Nice and safe."

"Oh come on," he said, pulling her into his arms. "It wouldn't have to be white. I'd let you decorate." Jaime laughed, but kept her arms folded, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Okay." he sighed. "It's true, I'm a little ...protective...when it comes to you."

"A little?!"

"All right, a lot." he admitted. But look at the mess you got into today."

She shrugged. "I've been in worse spots."

"Well," Oscar replied carefully, "I'm a little sensitive on the subject of you and head trauma."

"Honey, you have to let me take risks." Jaime replied firmly, pulling out of his arms. "You have to have faith in me. I have faith in you. Even if you don't deserve it sometimes. Even though you do crazy things like make a directive to kill you when you're kidnapped. I've never done anything _that_ crazy."

"I changed that. You know that." he grumbled.

"Still." she said defensively, hands on her hips. She paused and stared at him a moment. He was frowning at her with the uncertain look of a man who knows he's losing an argument but is reluctant to admit it. Jaime decided to press her advantage. "Could you start thinking of us as a team - like Sally and Nigel? I would have been sunk without you today and you would have been sunk without me. We did it together. That's great teamwork, don't you think? "

"My idea of great teamwork means you don't end up hooked up to some brain sucking contraption," he replied, shuddering slightly, "and I don't come out with a goose egg on the back of my head."

"You want an omelet, you've got to break a few eggs." Jaime grinned. Oscar looked unconvinced. "You're not going to feel compelled to tell the Secretary all about our shortcomings on this operation are you?"

"Hell no. It was a triumph." he replied flatly.

Jaime paused to examine Oscar's expression. He seemed so burdened. "Look, honey, you still think you have to be the boss. Let me have half the responsibility - you put yourself in my hands and I'll put myself in yours. You know I'm up to it." He sighed and looked at her doubtfully. "Relax, okay?" She slipped her hands around his waist. "We can be great together. We _are_ great together."

She could see the familiar warmth slowly returning to his eyes. "Okay." he said quietly.

"Thank you." Jaime said, squeezing him in approval.

"Will you try - just try - to make some concessions to my concerns in these situations? So I don't have a heart attack?"

"Yes." she replied, "I'll do better."

He pulled her close and rested his head against hers.

They held each other for many minutes. A fine cold mist clung to Jaime's skin and lashes. She savored the feeling of his arms around her - he felt all the warmer and more substantial against the cold.

"Still mad at me?" she asked eventually.

"Quite the opposite." he replied, caressing her face with a cool hand. His lips were wonderfully warm as he kissed her.

"Can I buy you another warm beer?" he asked.

"Nope." she replied.

"Nope?"

She shook her head. "I've got a different activity in mind." She smiled. "Something involving a hotel room and two warm bodies."

He returned her smile in that sparkly, conspiratorial way that turned her to butter. He slipped out of the embrace, grasped her hand in his and started briskly in the direction of the nearest tube station.

Jaime could feel all of Oscar's protectiveness in the way they made love that night. It was as though he wanted to envelope her completely and hold her in the deepest and safest part of his heart. She ached with love for him.


	8. Chapter 8

Much of the next day was swallowed at the offices of MI6. Both Jaime and Oscar filed preliminary reports, attended the interrogation of Peter Tillicott - who revealed nothing - and checked in with the technicians performing a postmortem on the so-called Tenderizer. Finally was the interrogation of Bob Brooks, who seemed absolutely befuddled by the whole thing. After the interview ended, Sally and Jaime strolled back to her office for a cup of tea while Oscar spoke privately to Brooks.

It was clear to Oscar that his agent should retire immediately, with a pension, and likely with disability benefits. Though he felt badly for Brooks, in truth he was simply itching to get out of the MI6 office with Jaime at his side so they could begin to enjoy themselves. They would have about two and a half days - likely including further interruptions due to this case, and he wanted to make the most of it. It was the first time he could remember putting his personal life before his work. When the interview ended three quarters of an hour later, Oscar bolted from the interview room and practically sprinted upstairs. He brushed past Sally's secretary and barged through her open office door, to find the two women deep in conversation. He walked straight to Jaime, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"Come on." he said. "Let's get out of here."

Jaime gave Sally a bemused smile as he pulled her toward the door.

"Oscar!" Sally called. He paused. "Don't tell me you're actually taking a little time off?!"

He gave her a wan smile and continued out of the office.

"You're coming to dinner tomorrow night. Seven o' clock." Sally called after them, following them out the door into the hallway.

"Great!" he replied, barely turning.

"Oscar..." she called again, her tone more serious. "One more thing."

He stopped and turned to face her. She sidled very close to him and said in a low voice, "I think this case is likely an _Entre Nous_, don't you?"

Oscar scanned her face for a moment before nodding slowly. His reply was loud - almost as though he were broadcasting it. "Well, the guy is clearly nuts. The technology is ridiculous - he's a fortune teller, for God's sake."

"My thought exactly." smiled Sally. She raised her eyebrows. "See you tomorrow."

"What was that about?" Jaime asked in a whisper as they turned to leave.

Oscar glanced around the empty hallway. "It's a little code we have," Oscar replied, so quietly that only Jaime could possibly hear him, "for information we keep just between our agencies. No higher level of government gets involved - unless absolutely necessary."

"You're kidding." Jaime asked, aghast.

"That thing is a torture device." he whispered.

Jaime stopped in her tracks and looked him in the eyes. She nodded. "Right. I get it now. Good call."

He nodded. "Glad you approve."

They burst out of the dark, cool MI6 offices into a day that was bright and busy.

"So what _was_ your mother's pet name for you when you were a baby?" Jaime asked, more than ready to leave the world of intelligence behind them.

He glanced at her, smiling, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Buppy." he said.

"Buppy? How sweet." Jaime smiled. "Why Buppy?"

"I have no idea."

"I'm going to call you that."

"No you're not." he said firmly. "What did your mother call you?"

Jaime giggled. "She called me Jehosephat. Jumping Jaime Jehosephat."

Oscar let out a triumphant guffaw. "And I wonder why she called you that?!" he laughed, gripping her firmly around the waist and roughly nuzzling his head to hers. "Maybe because you were a willful little firecracker who never listened to a word she said?"

Jaime pursed her lips in mock offense. "I'm afraid nothing short of torture will get me to answer that question."

---

Had the more observant students of Jaime's seventh grade class been able to compare notes with Oscar Goldman's secretary, Peggy Callahan, they would have agreed that Miss Sommers and Mr Goldman both wore a dreamy, abstracted look for days after their return to work. Jaime's students might have thought it had something to do with the wonders of international travel, but Callahan knew better. She made sure her boss's schedule was light for the first few days after his return, and without being asked, she cleared his weekend and booked him a ticket to Ojai.


End file.
